


Don't Fight Fate (You'll Lose)

by SamoanSexGodReigns



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Do not post to another site, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Knotting, M/M, Non-Wrestling AU, Scenting, Werewolves, no beta we die like men, werewolf porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamoanSexGodReigns/pseuds/SamoanSexGodReigns
Summary: History has always dictated that shifters remain hidden. Otherwise, things tended to get messy. Tommaso grew up on legends of entire packs being hunted into extinction by sadistic humans, on tales of young wolves being sold into slavery by greedy skin traders, on stories of kidnapping and torture and experimentation.So, if he matures into someone whose quiet and defensive and a little bit angry, who could blame him? He lives every day knowing that he exists in a society that he can never truly be a part of. He's alone, but not lonely, or at least that's what he tells himself until he meets Johnny and Candice, and then everything changes.
Relationships: Johnny Gargano/Candice LeRae, Tommaso Ciampa/Candice LeRae, Tommaso Ciampa/Johnny Gargano, Tommaso Ciampa/Johnny Gargano/Candice LeRae
Kudos: 16





	Don't Fight Fate (You'll Lose)

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to have this out by Halloween, but we all know how I am with deadlines.

History has always dictated that shifters remain hidden. Otherwise, things tended to get messy. Tommaso grew up on legends of entire packs being hunted into extinction by sadistic humans, on tales of young wolves being sold into slavery by greedy skin traders, on stories of kidnapping and torture and experimentation. 

As the years go by, he keeps his feelings close to his chest, an inner turmoil known only to himself, and he guards his secret like his life depends on it - because it does. He learns to observe the people around him, to question their motives at every turn, and how to predict their next move, so he's always three steps ahead. He's leery of friendships, and even more so with relationships, wary of anyone who tries to get too close because it's safer that way.

So, if he matures into someone whose quiet and defensive and a little bit angry, who could blame him? He lives every day knowing that he exists in a society that he can never truly be a part of. He's alone, but not lonely, or at least that's what he tells himself until he meets Johnny and Candice, and then everything changes.

It's work that brings them together, and from the moment he meets Johnny, he feels different. Johnny is noble and kind and so genuine it almost makes him uncomfortable. His personality is magnetic, his positivity contagious, his enthusiasm undeniable. He makes Tommaso feel at ease in a way that he's never felt around a human before. He doesn't feel like he has to watch his back every second, doesn't feel like he has to dissect everything Johnny says for some hidden meaning or threat. Johnny's just honest, just generous, and the ever-present anxiety that's been coiled between his shoulder blades since puberty dissolves when they're together. 

Then Johnny introduces Tommaso to his wife, Candice. 

Candice is everything Johnny is in female form; gentle and polite and so sweet, it almost makes his jaw ache. She's got a warm disposition, a tender heart, and a bright soul. When she's near, he's filled with a sense of peace, a tranquility he's never been able to capture on his own, and he relaxes into a routine that involves more than himself. 

Work still keeps bringing them together, but it's not what keeps them together now. 

Now, it's game nights and meals and trips to Disney. They laugh together and smile together, and Tommaso's never been so happy. He's never had friends before, never really had a family, but that's what he starts to think of them as - his pack. 

He starts to feel protective of them, maybe even a little possessive, and defense mechanisms honed for his own safety now take on renewed importance as he slips into the self-appointed role of guardian. 

He becomes softer around them, affectionate even, sharing inside jokes and hugs and couch cuddles. It feels natural and domestic, and Tommaso imagines that this is what it must be like to have a mate. Being with them just feels right, it feels normal, and it's too little, too late by the time he realizes he's in love with them.

When they ask him to move in with them for financial frugality and career convenience, he hesitates for the first time since he's known them. Moving in with them means finding an excuse to take off once a month without them ever finding out why or realizing that it's always during the full moon. He should say no, for his sense of privacy and self-preservation, but the idea of living in their light is too irresistible for his hungry heart to pass up. 

He accepts their offer and assurance that having him around won't be a burden with a timid smile. 

"Besides, you're here pretty much every day anyway. At least now, we can make you do dishes." 

"Johnny!" Candice admonishes her husband with a playful slap.

"Not gonna happen," Tommaso chuckles. "How about I buy us a dishwasher, instead?"

"Deal!" Candice beams, eagerly thrusting her hand out to shake.

Tommaso moves in that weekend. The dishwasher follows two days after.

Life gets infinitely better after he moves in with Candice and Johnny - and infinitely worse. 

When he wakes up in the morning, there's breakfast and coffee and camaraderie. When he goes to bed at night, there's companionship and cheek kisses and choruses of sweet dreams, and every second in between, he's awash in the rich aroma of their fresh honeyed scent. It seeps into his pores, so even when he's not home, there's no escaping the alluring perfume of his pack.

He's gone for three days every month, but they never ask him about where he goes, never try to pry into his activities. In fact, other than one teasing comment from Candice about being sure to use protection, they never mention it at all. If they think he's promiscuous, well, it just serves the dual purpose of concealing his secret and his feelings, and that's fine with him. 

It's perfect, and it's torture, and Tommaso never wants to live anywhere else.

)0()0()0()0(

**Seven Months Later**

He can hear them again. 

They're never overly loud, but with his enhanced senses, he can still hear them, can still smell them. It's always their scent that reaches him first, though. Notes of sugary sweetness turning sharp and spicy in his nose, and it's not long after that quiet sounds of carnality will start to fill his ears.

The reaction his body has is immediate and uncontrollable. His heart starts to thump thickly in his chest, and the blood in his veins goes hot as goosebumps prickle across his arms and his hair stands on end. He lay in bed, eyes scrunched tightly closed as he tries to breathe steady and slow, but every breath tastes like sex and sweat. He's stiff with lust and longing, and the tenderly erotic whispers of their love flame bright in his groin. He can envision them together, graceful limbs and rippling muscles that move in perfect unison on a mutual quest for pleasure. He can imagine their desire darkened eyes and their blissful smiles. Can picture the rosy flush of exertion tinging their skin. 

He wishes he could be there with them, wants to be pouring out his love for Johnny and Candice with loving hands and adoring mouth, but he knows that's impossible. He wishes he could feel the press of their lips against his, wishes he could savor the flavor of their pleasure on his tongue, but he knows it's nothing but a pipe dream. Candice and Johnny are already happy, are already rapturously in love with each other, and Tommaso doesn't expect there's any room left for him. He's their friend, and that's it, and it's enough, more than he ever expected. 

So, he stays, and he yearns, and he's thankful for it.

His cock throbs with need, a burning iron rod tenting the blankets, and something shameful and forbidden crosses his mind. He cracks one eye open, cock twitching hopefully between his thighs at just the thought, something swirling scandalous in the pit of his stomach. Fingers flexing, he inches them towards his hip and toys with the waistband of his boxers the way he toys with the idea sinking sick claws into his mind, and his hand slips inside before he even realizes what he's doing. 

The first brush of his hand against his fiery flesh is enough to have him jerking into his fist, and he bites his tongue to keep a desperate moan from escaping. Gripping himself lightly, he strokes over his length once, twice, and the relief is instant as pleasure skates up his spine. He knows he should stop, tells himself he's going to, tightens his hold instead as dread and desire war in his heart. 

The music coming from the other room builds in urgency, and Tommaso synchronizes his movements to the slick squelch of Johnny thrusting into his wife. She whispers praise into her husband's ear, voice soft and breathy, and Tommaso can almost pretend she's speaking to them both, loving them both. Johnny groans, increasing his pace as his orgasm nears, and Candice's cries turn pleading as they both stand poised on the peak of ecstasy. 

His own excitement roils and rolls inside him, spurred on by the sinful sounds and sensations overpowering his senses. Candice gasps Johnny's name when she cums, and the headboard slams once against the wall as Johnny grunts his release, not a moment after. 

It's not a second later that Tommaso's exploding into his own palm with a silent roar, and his climax slices through him like a blade. His body vibrates with bliss, and the connection to his pack is so strong it's almost physical as he takes their euphoria and makes it his own. 

As the aftershocks fade, the remorse hits, and he collapses back onto the bed with a frown. He wipes away the evidence of his crime as he listens to Candice and Johnny settle into each other for sleep, and he's never felt more ashamed of his actions. He crossed a line, used his abilities for his own personal gain, and invaded their privacy. He let his deviant desires get the best of him, and now his regret sits heavy in his chest.

He stays in bed until the sun sneaks under his curtains but rest never comes.

)0()0()0()0(

It's been two days since 'the incident' as Tommaso's taken to calling it in his head, and he's trying his best to act normal. He does everything he can not to fuss or flinch when they touch him or each other, but it's a losing battle, and they all notice. 

It's not like he's never heard Johnny and Candice having sex before because he has, dozens of times, but he's always been able to ignore it - up until now. 

This time he did the exact opposite thing of ignoring it. Nope, this time Tommaso jerked off while listening to them. 

_What the fuck._

He tries to scrub the memories from his mind the way he scrubs the stains from his shorts and sheets, but the experience cannot be washed away so easily. Every friendly conversation, every platonic touch just brings him back to that moment. To Candice and Johnny's rapturous symphony ringing in his ears, to their scent flooding his nostrils as they reach their peaks, to the rush of possessive pleasure that shakes him apart right after they do. The truth is there is no escaping it, no safe haven, or reprieve when they surround him mind, body, and soul. The harder he tries to fight his reaction to them, the more alluring the pull of his pack seems, and the more powerless he is to get away. 

He's not even sure he wants to anymore.

It's Wednesday, which means it's Wild Wing Night at their favorite sports bar, and they never miss the weekly all-you-can-eat event. He considers not going, contemplates continuing to avoid them like a stubborn child, but the wings, man, the wings cannot be denied. Buffalo, BBQ, ranch, teriyaki, chipotle honey - just thinking about them makes his mouth water. Decision made, entirely by his stomach, Tommaso throws on a pair of dark jeans and a t-shirt before combing his beard and rushing to the front door. 

Johnny and Candice are already there, exchanging questioning glances and hovering hesitantly, wondering and waiting for Tommaso to join them. Candice lights up when she sees him, smile wide and beaming bright, and the air goes sweet with the scent of her joy. It both soothes and stirs the conflicting emotions gripping his chest, and his wolf aches to be near his pack, aches to close this self-imposed awkward distance. 

Instead, he offers them a tight nod and asks, "Are we gonna go?"

A flash of disappointment washes over Candice's face, but it doesn't dim her smile, and Johnny grabs her hand in silent sympathy. "Yeah, man, Wild Wing Wednesday waits for no one." 

They take Johnny's car, he does his best thinking while driving, and the ride to the bar is mostly silent other than a few sparse comments about the weather and the radio. 

Things are still quiet between them as they wait to be seated, and the only words exchanged once they're taken to their table are between them and the server. It isn't until halfway through their first beer and their first twenty wings that one of them finally speaks.

"So, Tommaso, we don't mean to pry,"

"Your business is your own." Johnny supplies.

"But did something happen recently, you know, with one of the women you see?" 

He takes his time chewing the food in his mouth, schools his face and wipes the sauce from his lips with a napkin. "What makes you ask?"

""Well, you've been," Johnny pauses, exchanging a concerned look with his wife, and she nods at him as if encouraging him to say what's on both of their minds, "distant."

"Withdrawn," Candice adds. 

"And we just wanted to let you know that we're here for you if you want to talk or if you need anything." 

He tries to think of something to say, something close enough to the truth that it will appease them but not arouse suspicion, and he finally settles on, "Something did happen. I haven't been dealing with it well, but I'm working through it. No need to worry."

Dinner is almost normal after that. They demolish near sixty chicken wings and polish off seven beers between them. The conversation flows smoothly, and sometimes Johnny will smile, or Candice will laugh at something he says. It makes him feel whole again to be the cause of their happiness, and with each grin and giggle, he almost believes he deserves to feel that way. 

They split the check three ways, and Tommaso makes sure to tip twenty-five percent because life isn't getting any cheaper. When they stand up to leave, Johnny and Candice are already holding hands, and as they start to walk, she slips her hand into Tommaso's like it's the most normal thing in the world. A warm glow begins to spread from where Candice touches his skin, and it travels up his arm before expanding into his chest. His heart still pounds, and his face still gets hot with guilt under his beard, but he doesn't pull away. 

Bits of conversation reach his ears as they weave through tables and past the crowded bar, but most of it just background noise until one sentence stops him dead in his tracks.

"Look at that sweet little blonde thing over there. You think she'd fuck us both?" 

The men are still laughing when Tommaso turns to them, rage on his face and violence in his eyes. Both of them are dressed in jeans and cowboy boots and t-shirts with Confederate flags, and he can smell the hate wafting out of their bigoted pores.

"What the fuck did you just say?" he growls, all anger and bass.

The beefier of the two men turns to Tommaso with a sneer. "You talkin' to me, little boy?" 

He takes a threatening step closer to the two offensive rednecks, and the corner of his mouth tilts up in a dangerous smile. "Yeah, big man, I'm talking to you. Now, why don't you tell me what you just said about my friend."

Dark eyes flit from Tommaso to Candice standing behind him, and his lips twist sarcastically. "Well, ya see, I was just asking my brother here if he thought your girlfriend would fuck us both. Seein' as she's already into groups." He nods pointedly to where Candice holds both his hand and Johnny's, and then he throws his head back and brays with laughter.

Tommaso watches the man's three chins jiggle, and a red film covers his eyes, coating the world crimson. He doesn't think, doesn't hesitate, just yanks his hand from Candice's tightening grip, walks two steps, and punches the country cunt square in the jaw. The man's laughter ends abruptly, and the sound of his fist connecting with flesh echoes in his ears as the asshole falls to the floor, out cold. His brother, heroin skinny and hasty, gets up to defend obese and obtuse's honor, but Tommaso turns and decks him before he's even fully standing. He stumbles to his feet, looks for a second like he still wants to fight, then his eyes roll back into his head, and he crashes face-first onto the table with a thud. 

A small crowd has gathered around the table to gawk and whisper as the altercation unfolds, and Tommaso eyes them all. His heart is pounding with angry adrenaline, and his wolf is howling for blood as he waits for one of the other patrons to make a move. 

"Come on, Tommaso, let's go!" 

Candice is tugging on his arm, and Johnny's got his hand pressed tight to the center of Tommaso's chest as he forces him back. They drag him out of the bar before anyone can alert security, and once he's outside, his head clears a little. Out here, the sun is warm on his skin, and the air smells like spring and pine and diesel. Candice's hand is soft in his, and Johnny's palm is firm in between his shoulder blades as they guide him back to the car, and by the time they get there, his pulse has almost returned to normal. 

They stand there quietly for a moment, each one replaying the chaotic scene in the bar, and both Johnny and Candice try to speak at the same time. 

"Are you insane?"

"Why would you do that?"

They're both flushed and flustered, color high in their cheeks with worry shimmering in their eyes, and Tommaso _loves_ them. Feels it fill his every atom, and he can't believe they don't see it, that they don't know how much he cares for them. Without warning, he pulls them into his arms, and they settle against his chest as they relax into his embrace. Their arms wrap around his waist, and their breath puffs hot over his neck as he sucks in lungs full of their scent. He runs his nose through the blonde silk of Candice's hair, let's ginger and heliotrope calm his frayed nerves, and kisses her temple soft and reverent. 

"I don't like it when people disrespect you." 

Johnny's shorter hair tickles his nose as he inhales vetiver and oakmoss, and the smell eases comfort down his back. "You're good, and you're pure, and you're _mine_." His voice rumbles in his chest, scratches gravelly, and possessive over his vocal cords, and he lays another tender kiss on Johnny's temple this time. "I'd do anything for you two."

"We'd do anything for you too, Tommaso," Johnny whispers into his ear.

"Now, let's go home," Candice says, kissing his collar bone.

The ride back to the house is quiet again, but this time it's not so deafening, feels serene and familiar instead of anxious, and Johnny and Candice sneak him smiles in the rearview mirror the entire way. 

Tommaso smiles back.

)0()0()0()0(

He hears them again that night. 

Pulled from a sound sleep by intimate laughter and private exclamations of love, he awakens already hard and dripping moisture onto his thigh. He knows he shouldn't do it, knows he'll regret it later, but everything around him is still slumber hazy and buoyant, and by the time he realizes his hand is on his cock the need is too great to stop. It shreds the insides of his gut, slices along his veins, hacks into his head dull and blunt like a spoon, and the only relief he knows is the slippery grip of his fingers. 

He strokes himself hard and fast and furious as the cries from the next room reach their crescendo, and he spills sticky and shameful into his hand. The guilt hits him instantly, a frozen wave that stabs into his body like a billion bitter needles. He clenches his jaw, grinds his teeth so hard he hears them creak, and locks in the agonized groan trying to escape his chest. He's so angry with himself because he swore this would never happen again, swore it was a one-time mistake borne out of desperation and loneliness, but here he is again with cum cooling in his shorts and remorse icy in his mind. 

Disgusted, he wipes his hand on his boxers, tears them down his legs, and then rips them into tiny ribbons of cotton with his bare hands. He goes after his blankets next, splits, and mangles them till they lay in tatters all over the room, and then he sets to work on his sheets. And then the pillows.

When he's finished, his bedding is nothing but chunks of foam and scraps of fabric. He's panting, hands cramped, and covered in sweat, but it does little to assuage his rage. At least now, though, the room looks the way he feels, scattered and torn, a physical representation of the destruction he's caused. 

Things were just starting to get better between the three of them again, and now he's gone and ruined all the progress they've made.

Son of a bitch.

)0()0()0()0( 

He doesn't leave his bedroom all day, other than one quick run to the kitchen for garbage bags, and then it's right back to his cell. He spends hours cleaning up every thread and fiber that used to comprise his bedding, and then he sits on the floor in the center of the room and doesn't move until after the sun has set. 

He thinks about his discipline and control, attributes bred into him for survival, and how he's never had a problem with them before. Every action, every reaction, every decision has always been deliberately chosen and purposefully executed. He doesn't know how or when the Gargano's got so far under his skin, doesn't understand how they could have gotten beneath his armor without him realizing it, and he can't figure out just when he lost his handle on the situation. 

He's considered them pack damn near since the start of their friendship, and if he’s honest with himself, he’s been in love with them just as long, but he's always been able to keep himself in check. He’s always been able to ignore instincts and impulses that threaten to expose him, and now he's left to wonder - what's changed? 

The furniture offers him no answers no matter how he glares at it, and he heaves an annoyed breath as he shoots to his feet, suddenly restless. He feels on edge and twitchy as nervous energy vibrates in his body, and he shakes out his limbs in an effort to dispel it. He needs to move, needs the sky above him, and the earth below him before he goes mad. The claustrophobia starts to set in as he paces the floor with anxious steps, and the room begins to shrink as the walls creep closer and closer. His hands go numb with fear, and a cold sweat breaks out across his forehead. His heart accelerates as his adrenaline starts pumping, and his fight-or-flight instinct takes hold of his body as he snatches his keys from his desk and rushes from the room.

He doesn't see Candice or Johnny on his way out. He hears them, though, familiar laughter coming from the direction of the kitchen, and the delicious perfume of chicken picatta reaches his nose as he stomps through the house. He doesn't mean to slam the door when he leaves, still rattles the windows with the force of his exit, and he tears out of the driveway with a squeal of tires and a cloud of smoke.

He drives aimlessly for a while, not really sure where he's going, and with no actual destination in mind, he just follows the flow of traffic, and let's muscle memory guide him.

He ends up at the beach, in Florida, that's not hard to do, and the moon is high over the water by the time he parks his car. He leaves his shoes on the floor of the passenger seat, having zero use for them now, and makes his way barefoot over to the waterfront. His feet sink into the sand with every step, and it's still a little warm from the sun where it buries his toes, but it gets colder and denser the closer he gets to the water. The first wave washes over his ankles with a shock of cold to his senses, and he hisses as one tight shiver shimmies down his back.

The night is silent around him save the shush of the sea against the shore, not another soul for as far as the eye can see. It's just Tommaso and the ocean, and the moon that holds sway over them both. It shimmers like a pearl against the black velvet sky. Glimmers brilliant and bright in a billion tiny reflections of rippled light that dance on the midnight surface of the water, and he feels it's pull as surely as the sea must. It calls him to the water, to the quiet peace of the open ocean, and the siren song of its beauty is irresistible. 

He strips down without a second thought, leaves his clothes in a careless pile on the beach, and runs naked into the surf. He dives into the waves, and the water washes over him, calm and refreshing. He glides against the tide, splits the water with every stroke of his arms, and kick of his legs as he forces himself farther and farther from shore. He swims out so far, the lifeguards would consider him a lost cause. He swims out past the line of barrier buoys, and then even farther still. He swims until his calves cramp and his biceps burn, and then he turns over onto his back and just floats there, cradled and rocked gently by the soft rhythm of the waves. 

His problems seem so small from here, surrounded by endless sea and sky, and he feels even smaller. A single speck of living paint in the mural of the galaxy, so tiny and inconsequential on its own, but instrumental to the completion of the whole picture. 

He considers the events of the past few days, replays every moment in his mind, from that first night in his room to the fistfight at the bar, and all the erratic behavior in between. Nothing about his situation has changed. His work is challenging and fulfilling, and his life at home with Candice and Johnny is peaceful and happy. Nothing about their demeanor has changed. They're still as loving and honest as they've always been. Even after he was curt and rude and avoided them, their attitude toward him never changed. Their affection never faltered. 

Which means... it's him.

Something about Tommaso's changed, something inside of him titled or turned without him noticing, and now he's slightly off-kilter and struggling to find his balance. He doesn't want his life to change, doesn't want his own self-destructive tendencies to destroy the best relationship he's ever known, and he vows right then and there that he won't let his own mistakes ruin what he has with Johnny and Candice. He's in control of himself, his life, and his fate, and nothing is going to take that control away from him. 

Nodding to the moon in affirmation, he flips back onto his stomach and swims back to the beach. His clothes are still right where he left them, albeit a little sandier than when he left, but he doesn't mind the dust of grain sticking to his arms and legs. There's something about the beach, something about the water and the waves and the horizon that always offers comfort and clarity, and the scratch of sand against his skin puts him at ease. 

The drive back to the house is calm and serene, and Tommaso is composed and almost relaxed by the time he pulls in behind Candice's hybrid. He feels lighter than he's felt in days, he's damn near cheerful, and he absentmindedly hums the tune of something upbeat and romantic as he slips his key into the lock. He opens the door, and he's three steps into the house before the song dies in his throat. Candice and Johnny are sitting on the couch, expressions serious, and speaking in hushed tones. 

It takes them a moment to realize he's there; they're so engrossed in their conversation, but once they do, they both turn to him with broad, slightly worried smiles. 

"You're back!" He can hear the surprise in Candice's voice, can smell it in the biting twist of citrus that tickles his nose, but there's also a tinge of relief. "We were just about to watch that movie you recommended." She points to the tv where Tommaso can just barely see the Netflix logo out of the corner of his eye.

"Care to join us?" Johnny asks, patting the couch cushion between himself and Candice in invitation. 

Johnny's words echo in his ears, far away and airy, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel, and the scene in front of him melts away. His roommates are no longer sitting there innocently waiting for him and are instead wrapped in an erotic embrace as Candice grinds down into Johnny's lap. They're entirely nude and kissing passionately as carnal sounds of pleasure slip between their lips, and it's just like last night. The sultry scent of sex fills his head, and he watches them silently, mesmerized by the beautifully familiar way they touch and love each other. Her arms are around his neck, fingers of one hand splayed wide between his shoulder blades, while the other pets through the downy hair at the base of his skull. His hands roam over her back and hips and ass, guide her down into the rhythmic thrust of his own body as he holds her tight and tender. They chase down their release, movements smooth and determined as the pitch of their cries climbs higher and higher, and just as they’re about to reach their peak - they freeze. Poised and trembling over a chasm of carnality, they turn to him in perfect unison and extend a hand, as if waiting for him, and Tommaso's heart pounds hoofbeats in his chest. 

An unexpected hand on his shoulder suddenly startles Tommaso, and he jerks away from the touch as the vision in front of him dissolves. He blinks a few times, and it finally registers that Johnny is standing right in front of him. Tommaso has no idea when he moved or how long he's been standing there, but the worry is back on his face, back in the perfume of the room. 

"Are you okay, man?"

Tommaso doesn't reply, doesn't even breathe, just turns around as quietly as he can and flees to the safety of his bedroom.

For the first time in seven months, he locks the door behind him.

)0()0()0()0(

Johnny and Candice are pretty scarce for a few days following the messed-up mirage in the living room, and Tommaso's not sure if they're avoiding him or not, but he's definitely avoiding them. He does not need another opportunity to make a fool of himself, thank you very much. 

He skulks around the house like a scavenger, strikes quick and fast to gather what he needs, and then retreats back to his cave. He spends most of his time lying in bed staring aimlessly at the ceiling, dissecting every humiliating second of his life and how it's brought him here. Now, after two nights stewing in his thoughts and stewing in his sweat, the stench of Tommaso's despair and disappointment hangs heavy in the air. It sits harsh and acidic on the back of his tongue, clogs his throat like turpentine trash, and his stomach heaves with every breath. 

An hour ticks by with him doing his best not to redecorate his room in shades of vomit before he finally admits defeat and drags himself out of bed. Standing, he finally catches a whiff of his _actual body_ , and his pits almost smell worse than his depression. He needs a shower, or, better yet, several showers. Whatever it takes to wash off this funk. 

Creeping to the door, he opens it as soundlessly as possible, sticks his head out to make sure that the coast is clear, and then he tiptoes down the hallway. He makes it to the bathroom without issue and releases the anxious breath he's been holding since he left his room. It hits him then, something earthy and masculine and mouthwatering. He snaps his head to the side, nose twitching as he scents the air, and his gut clenches with want. He needs more of that alluring aroma, and his gaze locks on the only thing noticeably out of place. It's one of Johnny's shirts, casually discarded and lying harmlessly on the floor, but Tommaso's knees go weak when he sees it. The garment calls to him, soft cotton soaked in Johnny's scent, whispering tempting promises and appeasing assurance, and he snatches up the shirt without a second thought. 

There's no one around to see him, no one around to judge him, and he brings the fabric to his nose to sniff. He inhales deeply, and his eyes flutter closed as the fragrance washes over him. It fills him up, floats high and gaseous in his head, swoops low, and then pulsates in his core. A growl of pleasure rumbles in his chest, and he rubs the worn shirt over his face, scrubs Johnny's essence into his skin and beard and pores. He wants to bathe in it, wants to wallow in the wispy bouquet of Johnny's joy, wants to immerse himself in the tart squeeze of Johnny's affection, wants to lounge in the spicy redolent of Johnny's desire and never leave. His heart taps out a series of dots and dashes, broadcasting his love from the cage of his ribs, and molten lust makes pyro ducts of his veins. His hips begin to roll unbidden, grinding against nothing, and his cock starts to harden in his shorts. His mouth falls open wide on a moan, and he gulps in lungs full of Johnny flavored air.

A throat clears from behind him, and his every molecule goes icy and stiff with terror. He whirls around to find Candice standing in the doorway, and it's only then that he realizes he never bothered to close the damn thing behind him. He drops the shirt in his hands like a bank robber surrounded by cops, and he stands before his pint-sized firing squad, an obviously guilty man. He waits for her to confront him, waits for her to rage at him, waits for her to condemn him, but she never does. She just stares at him with delicate little lines of worry between her brows and a tilted frown and asks, "Is everything alright?"

Her question rings loud between them like gunfire, and Tommaso physically recoils from her words. He doesn't want her concern, doesn't want her interest in his well-being. He wants her to be mad. He wants her to be angry and upset and furious. 

He's furious. He's furious with himself for getting caught, furious at her for catching him, and it all ignites in his brain with a spark of shame. 

In a flash, moving quicker than the eye can track, he's crossing the room and crowding Candice back against the wall. He's not thinking about his secret, doesn't give a fuck about exposure. He just needs her to react. He needs her to punish and denounce him for his recently abhorrent behavior because heaven knows he can't stop himself. 

There's barely a few inches separating their bodies, and she startles when he slams a hand on either side of her head, effectively trapping her between him and cold plaster. He can hear the acceleration of her heart, can see the rapid fluttering of her pulse in her neck, and the air around them goes fizzy with shock. There's something else, though, something sultry and musky and hauntingly familiar, and he buries his nose in her neck to chase down the memory. She gasps at the sensation of his skin on hers, and her scent gets deeper, darker when he trails his lips along her throat. Suddenly, awareness and recognition punch him in the gut as Candice's perfumed arousal swims dizzy and dominant in his head.

He groans in approval, presses even closer to her, and pins her to the wall. Whines at the sweet softness of her body. 

"Whoa."

Tommaso freezes. Once again, caught like a child with his hand in the cookie jar, and he slowly lifts his head from Candice's neck to lock eyes with her husband. He waits for Johnny to say something, waits for Johnny to do something, and his torso clenches for a strike that never comes. 

Johnny just stares at them. 

Stares at Tommaso.

Stares at his wife.

Stares at Tommaso _and_ his wife with this stupidly fascinated expression on his innocently dumb face. 

It's infuriating how far they've let him go, how much they've let him antagonize them without doing _anything_ , and he pushes away from the wall in exasperation. He stalks towards Johnny, a challenge in every line of his body, and his gaze never leaves his friends face. As he passes by, he makes sure to knock his shoulder into Johnny's, just to try and provoke the situation, but it garners no   
response, and he returns silently to his room.

He never did get his shower.

)0()0()0()0(

He can hear them again. 

It's been less than twelve hours since his encounter with Candice and Johnny in the hallway, and Tommaso is still very much on edge. His skin feels too tight and stretched too thin over muscle and bone, and he vibrates with too much energy. He throws the blankets back, it's not like he could sleep anyway, and he starts to pace the floor in sharp, silent steps. 

Johnny lets out an incredibly deep groan from the next room, and it's followed by something sly and wicked from Candice. He puts his hands over his ears to try and muffle the sounds, but he can still _smell_ them, and the events from earlier are still all too fresh. The spice of Johnny's scent still lingers in his nose, and the phantom plushness of Candice's body still warms his form. Lust and love twist molten in his blood, burning away all thoughts of reason and control, and a tormented whine claws its way from between his lips. The slick slap of skin slips like a siren song through his clenched fingers and continues to lead him like a ship to the wrecked rocks of his composure. It's titillating torture, and he's beyond the limit of his ability to withstand such effective tactics. 

He's across the room and out the door before he's even conscious of his movements, and logic has no time to intervene until he's standing outside of the Gargano's bedroom. The scents and sounds are stronger here, with only two inches of wood separating them, and he shudders as he struggles to regain hold of his dignity. His conscience screams at him to turn around, to go back to his room, and pretend that this never happened, but he barely hears it as he storms into their room. 

The door smacks against the wall, alerting them to his presence, and the bang startles the room’s occupants into action. The scene unfolds in a kind of sickening slow-motion, and Tommaso watches on, grossly captivated, as Candice scrambles off of Johnny's lap. He catches sight of the tight swell of her ass, and a flash of Johnny's hard cock as a renewed surge of love and sex overwhelms his senses. Johnny rips the blanket up to cover them, to try and preserve what little is left of their modesty, and he wedges his wife behind him protectively.

"Tommaso, wha-"

"I can hear you, you know," he interrupts, lip curling up in a snarl. "No matter how quiet you're being, I can hear the way she kisses you, the way you touch her skin. I can smell you, the musk of your arousal, and the tang of your perspiration. There's no hiding it."

A bubble of silence descends upon the room save the panicked fluttering of hearts and breath. Candice peeks over her husband's shoulder, and her eyes are wide with concern, her mouth screwed tight with remorse, and Johnny looks on with an identical expression. 

"We're sorry, Tommaso," Candice begins.

"We didn't know it bothered you," Johnny finishes, and they're so heartbreakingly genuine that he could just scream. 

He doesn't understand how they can be so calm in the face of his blatant invasion of their privacy, doesn't know how they can continue to support and sympathize with him when he's behaving so rudely. He wants them to be angry, wants them to be disappointed, wants them to be even half as offended as he is by his own actions, but they just stare and care, and Tommaso can't think past the frustration. He takes one belligerent step towards them, a last-ditch effort at rousing a response, but he's unable to penetrate the surface of their placid compassion, and he turns away with a scoff.

He doesn't bother closing the door when he leaves.

)0()0()0()0(

It's been over twenty-four hours since either of the Gargano's have seen either hide or hair of Tommaso Ciampa, and there have been zero signs of life from his bedroom. They've been trying to give him space. To let him work out whatever issues he's having because clearly, they aren't helping matters, but the lack of his presence is like a physical wound. 

They walk around with a cloud of sorrow hanging heavy over their heads, and time passes in a gloomy fog. The day just doesn't hold the same magic when you've managed to drive a wedge so firmly between you and your best friend that they can't stand to be around you. 

They go through the motions of their daily activities, robotic and mindless, but their thoughts are always on the man behind the closed door down the hall. Tommaso is their best friend, their brother in arms, the only person they love as much as they love each other, and the defensive animosity he's been displaying leaves them stinging and confused. 

The sun begins to set as they creep closer to forty-eight hours without a peep from Tommaso, and genuine worry starts to set in. 

After a little discussion and a pit stop in the kitchen, they end up outside Tommaso's room with a peace offering of nachos and beer. They eye the door like it's a snake coiled to strike, cautious and wary, each imagining every scenario in which this gesture backfires until finally Candice just gives in and knocks.

No response. 

It's Johnny's turn this time, and he raps his knuckles against the wood a little harder, a little louder, and he accompanies it with a call of, "Hey Tommaso, are you in there?" Which is a stupid question because obviously, he's in there. The door to this room hasn't opened in damn near two days.

"We brought food." Candice tries, and it's a much better play than Johnny's irrelevant inquiries, but there's still no reply. 

They wait, eager and earnest, for longer than any logical person would, and it's only when they're turning to walk away that they finally hear something. It's a kind of high-pitched keening wail that resonates with grief and wrenches their hearts. It's a cry filled with pain and longing and sorrow, and it stops them dead in their tracks. 

They rush back to the door, and Johnny bangs on it without reserve, only stops long enough to call out, "Tommaso, are you okay? What's going on? Say something!" 

Nothing but more miserable moaning from inside the room, and then a roar, "Go away!"

Intending to ignore Tommaso's request, he goes to twist the knob, but the door is locked, and all it does is jiggle uselessly in his hand. "Damn it!"

"Here, take this." Handing Johnny the now-forgotten beer and nachos, she slips a single bobby pin from her hair, pries apart the ends, and then goes to work on the door. She jiggles the pin in the knob until she catches it on the sliding mechanism inside, and then with a quick turn, the door pops open. 

"You are such a badass." Johnny breathes, slightly in awe of his wife's endless talents. 

She throws him a grin and a wink and then pushes the door open the rest of the way. 

They could not have been prepared for what awaits them on the other side. 

Tommaso's lying on the bed, pillows and blankets thrown to the floor as he whines and writhes. His boxers are soaked near translucent with sweat, and his skin glistens with the excess moisture. His eyes snap open, but it's like he doesn't truly see them. Instead, stares through them with a wild expression, and Johnny abandons the snacks in his hands on the desk as they rush to Tommaso's side.

Awareness dawns on him as they approach, and he growls something low and threatening and almost inhuman that stops them short just before they reach the bed. "I told you guys to stay away," he bellows. "You need to leave. Now!"

Even those few words seem to take the energy out of him, and his head flops back onto the mattress. He's flushed, and the tendons in his neck stand out in stark relief as he grits his teeth in agony. "We can't leave you like this, Tommaso. You're hurting." Candice's anguish is plain on her face, in her tone, and it mirrors Johnny’s feelings exactly. Both of them swimming in empathy for the man they love. 

"We just want to help you."

Tommaso sucks in a sharp breath. "You don't understand," he hisses, "not right, not normal."

"No, you don't understand. We love you, and we're not going anywhere." 

Something inside of Tommaso visibly breaks then, and his arms shoot out to ensnare both Johnny and Candice before he drags them down on top of him. He sighs in relief at the touch of their skin, at their weight on his chest, and his body relaxes just the slightest bit beneath them. He's still burning up, though, damn near feverish, and his skin is so hot they can feel its heat through their clothes. 

Johnny opens his mouth to voice his concern, but his words are swallowed up by Tommaso's lips as he rears up for a kiss. It's challenging and unexpected and surprising, and Johnny gasps as his tongue slithers inside to stake claim. He's scarcely had time to process the kiss, can barely recognize the arousal pooling in his pelvis, before Tommaso is pulling away and turning to kiss Candice. 

Watching another man kiss his wife delivers its own kind of shock to his system, something a little wicked and a little wanton, and his insides bubble and fizz with hungry desire. Tommaso's hand is lost in the silk of Candice's hair, and he uses his grip to tilt her head and deepen the kiss. She goes with the flow, soft and soothing like a river, and he sinks into her until he's breathless. He doesn't pause for oxygen, though, just shifts his attention back to Johnny and kisses them both stupid. 

Johnny and Candice, of one mind and a singular intention, find themselves both reaching for Tommaso's cock simultaneously. He cries out and jerks beneath them at the first brush of their fingertips, but Candice quiets him with a line of kisses along his collar bone. They explore his length through the thin material of his boxers as they trace delicate lines over his iron flesh. They ease him into their touch with gentle caresses and calming pets, and by the time Johnny slips the waistband of Tommaso's boxers down, he's thrusting up into their hands. He's long and thick between their palms and slicked slippery with the moisture weeping from the head. Candice works the top, and Johnny works the bottom, and they sync up their strokes easy and instinctively, and after a few minutes, a large round knob of tissue begins to form and expand at the base of Tommaso's cock. It's meaty and plump, and he moans something animalistic and guttural when Johnny squeezes it, and he and his wife share a sly smile.

Tommaso knows he should be worried that Johnny and Candice are exploring his body, should be beyond terrified that they've discovered the noticeable anatomical differences between him and a human male. Still, the euphoria pumping neon-bright through his body blinds him to all logic and fear. Their hands intoxicate and overwhelm, and it's the only relief he's known since awakening this morning with an uncomfortable hole rusting through his gut. 

As the hours wore on, the hole got bigger, and his insides eroded under a flood of acidic hunger, and though their touch eases the corrosive spread of his need, his stomach still burns with undiminished desire. He bucks up into their hands, desperately seeking something, and he whines unsatisfied into Candice's mouth. 

"What's wrong, Tommaso? How can we help you?" she breathes against his moist lips.

"Need you, both of you, m-more." A fresh wave of pain slips like needles under his flesh, and he thrashes beneath them on the mattress. “ _I’m sorry._ ”

"Easy, buddy, easy. It's okay." Johnny's hand is firm and grounding, where he presses it to Tommaso's slick chest, and he can feel the way Tommaso's heart races in his palm. "We've got you," he promises. 

"Take what you need," Candice reassures, placing her hand on top of Johnny's over Tommaso's pounding heart.

It's all the permission he needs, and he rears up once more to capture Candice's sweet mouth. He kisses her hard and fast and dirty, slips his tongue into her mouth to pillage and plunder, and she surrenders to him without question. Rolling their bodies, he flips their positions, so he's on top of Candice, and he grinds his cock against her still clothed core. He growls in frustration at the thin material, still separating them, and he wrenches away from the kiss only long enough to rip tiny shorts down creamy thighs before returning to the beckoning call of her lips. 

He keeps kissing her as his cock slides through the honeyed moisture of her pussy, and he sinks into her scorching channel while she flutters around him. "Ahh, fuck," he roars, throwing his head back and shivering atop his lover. 

_His lover._

Even thinking the words seems like something ripped from fantasy and he can hardly believe that this is really happening, that he's making love to Candice while Johnny watches, and he wants to savor this moment. He wants to freeze time so he can record and remember every millisecond of this experience. But the wildfire that's been consuming him all day flares dangerously, and his overheated mind collapses under its sweltering influence. 

He needs to take Candice, to claim her, and his hips start to roll and thrust into her before he's even really told them to. He hammers himself into her with relentless repetition, over and over again. Without thought or care to anything other than the pleasure pouring from the clenched rapture of her cunt. 

His pace never waivers as her arms wrap around him, and she scratches crimson lines of delight into the rippling expanse of his back as she breathes her joy into his ear. The room takes on an ancient smell as primal pheromones seep into the air with their ecstasy and the ritualistic drumming of their hearts echoes the ringing slap of flesh in the room.

Another scent joins theirs, mingles harmoniously with the pungent aroma of their arousal, and tickles familiar friendly down his spine. 

Another sound mixes with the rhythm of their panting cries, and it resonates rewardingly in his head. 

He follows scent and sound, and when he raises his gaze, he's met with a display that overloads what's left of his struggling brain. 

Johnny's propped up against the headboard, naked from the waist down, and with two calloused fingers lost deep inside himself. He watches Tommaso ravish his wife, watches Tommaso watching him, and blushes a pretty pink picture while he fucks himself and gasps under the attention. 

It's enough to send him careening over the edge of a precipice he's been poised on since they walked in, since this morning, since he _met_ them, and Tommaso pistons his pleasure into Candice as he howls unintelligible words of love and praise to his pack.

_His mates._

She joins him in the abyss not a moment later, bucks and hollers her release, and Johnny spurs her on with filthy encouragement as he continues to ride his own fingers. 

She melts back onto the bed, and Tommaso tries to relax into the pleasant cushion of her body, but the furnace in his torso spits fire and screams for more as it inflames him. He slips gently from her delicate folds, mindful enough to be aware of her sensitivity, and he presses a soft kiss to the tilted corner of her mouth.

It's nothing after that to pounce on Johnny, and he pulls Johnny's hand away from his ass before dragging him down the bed and into his lap. He's stretched himself open well enough that Tommaso's cum-coated cock glides in smooth and without a hint of discomfort.

"Fuck, _yes_ ," he hisses, buried to the hilt in Johnny's tight hole. 

He doesn't wait for a response from Johnny, takes the fact that he wraps his legs around Tommaso's waist to somehow try and drag him deeper as invitation enough, and sets a pulverizing rhythm from his first thrust. He drills Johnny into the mattress, pins his pelvis to the bed with a grip that's sure to bruise, and neither one of them cares as they speed towards euphoria. He chases down his completion like a famished predator stalking prey, and when he finally catches it between his gnashing teeth, he cries victory as he fills Johnny with his bliss. 

Johnny, for his part, is not quiet as he rains his release over the blue cotton of his shirt, and he moans and whimpers something high-pitched and a little slutty as he dances and sings on Tommaso's cock. It spills steady and sensual from his mouth like liquid lust, and suddenly Candice is there lapping at the fountain of his lips and swallowing them down like ambrosia. 

The intimately tender way they move and touch is both sensual and beautiful, and Tommaso is in awe of them. They're a masterpiece, his pack, a living monument to pure love and genuine devotion, and it's the most provocative thing Tommaso's ever had the grace to see. Gets infinitely more erotic when Candice pulls away to sigh seductive against Johnny's lips, "Good boy."

It's like a secondary shock to his already overloaded system, and he collapses under the continued strain of trying to function with a hard drive that's completely fried. He buries his face in Johnny's neck and pants prayers against sweat salted skin that whatever's been fueling him is finally spent, but he's granted no such reprieve. Johnny's hips give another reflexive twitch at the change in position, and his channel clenches around Tommaso's still agonizingly hard cock.

It's enough to short circuit the few remaining neurons he has. 

The blaze in his blood tears through him on a rising tide of carnal chaos bent on incinerating everything in its path. It smokes in the engine of his torso, converting steam into enough energy to fight the fatigue tugging at his muscles, and he rolls their bodies, so Johnny's sitting astride Tommaso like a prized pony. 

"Ride me," he urges, thrusting up into Johnny a few times to try and encourage a response. 

Johnny's as receptive and attentive as he's always been, and he doesn't need to be told twice what to do. He starts up a slow grind, rolls his hips against Tommaso's steady and even and controlled, and it's altogether too much and not enough for the untamed stampede of need galloping through his core. He bucks against Johnny, silently begging for what he needs, and Johnny gives it to him without question, without pause. He sets his hands on the solid cage of Tommaso's ribs for support and leverage, and he gradually begins to speed his pace until the jackhammer slap of his hips fills the room.

The punch of sight and sound and scent stings harsh and beguiling in every part of his vessel. It swims and soars and strides into every corner of his body and burns burns _burns_. He is naught but an inferno of needy pleasure that consumes and consumes and demands more.

He turns to Candice with frenzied eyes that seem to glow an unnatural, almost lupine golden brown, that beseech and beg with their heated intensity. "Sit on my face." 

"What?" she sputters.

" _Please_ , sit on my face." He enunciates each word slowly and carefully as he pushes past the pained strain of speaking.

She hesitates for just a second, a little surprised by his request when he's already balls deep in Johnny, but she's never been one to deny a man in need. 

After all, he did say please.

She straddles his shoulders, one knee on either side of his neck, and he's already licking between her labia before she's even settled on his face. Her musky aroma first explodes over his tongue, then weaves its way into his nostrils to swim potent in his head. He licks up and down her slit, and when he gathers the wetness leaking from her core, he tastes himself mixed with the tang of Candice's cum. 

He teases her clit with light flicks of his tongue, circles her hard, little pearl with the tip, and then brings it into his mouth. He suckles her sweet nub until she's twitching her hips against his face and riding his mouth in sync with the way Johnny rides his dick, and he groans ragged wrecked into her pussy. 

Johnny's like a slippery vice around him, and Candice is a feast on his face, and every move he makes shoots pleasure up his spine. He feels like a phoenix, reduced to nothing but ash in the fire of his own desire before being reborn into the same flames of ecstasy to begin the cycle again. He rises rises _rises_ , floats high above the earth, and cruises on a breeze of bliss, poised to plummet.

He needs to take his pack with him, though, needs Johnny and Candice to plunge off that peak with him more than he needs his next breath. He doubles his efforts, ratchets and rolls his hips up into Johnny harsh, and hurried as the knot at the base of cock begins to inflate. It catches on the edge of Johnny's rim a few times before finally popping into the tight resistance of his hole, and Tommaso screams as his vision goes white with sparks. His knot swells even more until it's fat and full and plugs Johnny up so he can smear hot cum all over his inner walls without spilling a drop. 

Johnny wails at the luscious stretch of his ass as it accommodates the extra width of Tommaso's knot and the delicious sting of pain that zings along his nerves sends him crashing headlong into his second orgasm. He splatters cum on the washboard canvas of Tommaso's abdominals, and it sizzles and sears against his skin as Johnny rocks through his release. 

"Oh, god, yes!" 

Tommaso vacuums his lips around Candice's clit as she gushes around his mouth, rains cum down his chin like a waterfall, and Tommaso roars against her folds in satisfaction. She slides boneless from his face and slips down his body to curl up cozy into his side, her head cushioned on his shoulder as Johnny collapses onto his chest. They're both flushed a pretty pink crimson and glistening with diamond sweat as they try to catch their breath, and a smug sense of pride creeps into the space around his heart. It doesn't have time to fully settle in, though, because Johnny shifts atop him, and Tommaso realizes they're locked together. He's fucking _knotted_ inside of Johnny, and as his head finally begins to clear, he's hit with a grim sense of fear. 

How is he ever going to hide what he is now? How can he explain away what just happened between them, how he acted, and the things he said? How can they ever go back to being friends after this? 

All these thoughts and more pummel him through twelve rounds of regret and remorse, and his body goes cardboard stiff and frail with terror. His arms fall numbly from where they were wrapped around his companions, and he starts to pant panicked as his wolf races for escape. 

They must notice the change in his demeanor because they turn their tired eyes on him in unison, and Tommaso has no choice but to look away. He can't face the questions and accusations that are sure to come, and one frightened whine cuts through the comfortable silence of the room. He feels pinned by their gaze, a vulnerable moth impaled and twitching on a cork display, and the fact that he really is pinned to the bed by Johnny's weight isn't lost on him as he fights back more cries of dismay.

"Shh, shh, shh," Candice soothes, shushing him as she pets along his side.

Johnny grips his chin and brings his focus back to them, his hand stable and grounding against Tommaso's skin. "It's okay, Tommaso. You don't have to worry. Just breathe." 

He follows Johnny's instructions, takes a deep breath, and then another and another until he doesn't feel like his wolf is going to tear through his flesh, and Johnny smiles tenderly at him.

"That's it. You're alright. You don't have to worry," he reiterates. "We know what you are."

Record scratch. 

What the fuck?

He must have suddenly lost the ability to understand English because there's no way Johnny just said what Tommaso thinks he just said. 

"Huh?" is the eloquent reply his brain supplies, and he frowns in consternation.

Candice chuckles and kisses his scruffy cheek. "We saw you leave once; saw you shift at the edge of the trees, and it was like something from a movie. You were so graceful, so powerful, so strikingly beautiful, and we've never seen anything so amazing. You're amazing, Tommaso." 

"Why didn't you ever say anything before?" His tone betrays his astonishment, and he _still_ can't believe that all this is really happening.

"It was your secret to share." 

"Not ours to confront," Johnny finishes, pressing a kiss to Tommaso's slack mouth.

"You don't think I'm some kind of freak? You're not... afraid of me?" And there it is, his biggest fear spoken aloud, the terrifying possibility that the two people he loves the most would see him as just another monster, a dangerous threat not to be tolerated. 

"Of course not! We love you, Tommaso, every part of you, no matter what."

"Besides, you’re nothing but a big puppy, anyways. We could never be scared of you." Johnny jokes.

"Oh, really?" Tommaso raises one skeptical brow. "I do bite, you know." He chomps at the air dramatically as if to demonstrate his point.

"We're counting on it," Candice promises, nipping into his shoulder.

They all dissolve into elated, exhausted laughter after that, and it's loving and wonderful and peaceful. Johnny and Candice accept him, no conditions or exceptions, and Tommaso's still not a hundred percent sure this isn't some kind of dream, but it gets more real by the second. After all the years of loneliness and anxiety, after the conflict and confusion, he's finally found his pack, _and they love him back_. 

He's never been more content.

Eventually, when his knot fades away, Johnny’s able to roll onto his other side, sandwiching him between husband and wife, and he nuzzles into Tommaso’s chest. 

They stay like that, weaved and wrapped around each other like one being, and then they sleep.

In the morning, as they sit down to a hearty breakfast, the news plays ambiently in the background, with Harper Haley delivering her hourly weather report. 

"It'll cool off heading into the evening, though, and if you're planning on being out after dark, be extra cautious because tonight is the arrival of the super blue moon, and it's sure to bring out the animal in us all."

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> Tommaso Ciampa _is_ a werewolf. I accept no other reality.


End file.
